


You (and You) and Me

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, OT3, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 17:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12347118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: In which Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes become unwilling roommates, drive each other (and a very put-upon Steve Rogers) up the wall, and discover that there’s a very, very fine line between love and hate.





	You (and You) and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the end of Captain America: Civil War and contains some spoilers for the ending of the movie.
> 
> Written for Kinktober 2017. Prompt: (20) Threesome.

  

  

“You did _what_ ,” said Sam Wilson flatly, arms crossed. He was standing in the debris-filled wreck of what had formerly been his apartment.

“It wasn’t my fault!” said Steve Rogers, looking harried. “Well, okay, it kind of _was_ , but I really didn’t mean to, it’s just, so many things happened all at once, Pepper called saying she needed to talk to me about something, and I like Pepper, I really do, so I couldn’t just stand her up, and then Peter called and he wanted to talk to me about becoming an Avenger, he sounded so excited, and he’s so _young_ , and I remember how I felt at his age, and...” he trailed off and stared at Sam pathetically.

“That,” said Sam severely, “is not a good enough reason to leave Thor unsupervised in my kitchen. There is _no reason_ good enough for you to leave Thor unsupervised in my kitchen.”

“I was teaching him to bake cookies,” said Steve pitifully. He looked round at the charred, blackened shell of Sam’s apartment guiltily. “I _am_ sorry,” he said, turning huge, imploring eyes on Sam. “I’ll help you look for another apartment?”

“Ohhhh, no, no, _no_ ,” said Sam, pointing an accusing finger at his friend. “Stop that. Stop that _right now_.”

Steve looked puzzled. “Stop what?”

“ _That_ ,” said Sam, flapping his arm at Steve irritably. “The _eye_ thing. Stop it _this instant_.”

“Huh?” Steve blinked at Sam and tipped his head slightly to one side, which made him look like an adorably confused puppy. Sam sighed in deep despair. His weakness for this man was going to get him killed one day, he was sure of it. Hell, it might already have, if he hadn’t been out doing groceries when Thor had accidentally blown his apartment up.

“I give up,” he told Steve gloomily. “You win. I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“You’re not?” Steve perked up and eyed him hopefully.

“I’m really not,” said Sam. “Now _please_ stop looking at me like that.”

Steve did stop the puppy-dog eyes but started beaming at him delightedly instead, which really didn’t help at all.

 

***

 

Bucky Barnes stretched cautiously, cracked the muscles in his neck, and glanced around the tiny but sun-drenched two-bedroom apartment. It had been a little over three days since he’d been brought out of cryogenic sleep on Wakanda, T’Challa enthusiastically claiming that the Wakandan scientists had come up with some kind of new-fangled hypnotherapy that would help to counter his Hydra conditioning. The treatment had been surprisingly painless – or, well, most likely surprising only to Bucky himself, as he’d come to expect pain with every procedure he’d undergone. Not a healthy thing to expect, he knew, but with the way life had been the past few years...well, he’d wait and see how this hypnotherapy thing panned out, then he’d work on being cautiously optimistic about life in the present.

After the hypnotherapy was complete, T’Challa had wanted him to stay under observation in Wakanda for a while, but Steve had insisted on bringing him back to New York, promising T’Challa that he’d keep an eye on Bucky. Honestly, Bucky had thought that staying on in Wakanda would be the prudent thing to do, given that the treatment was experimental and nobody knew with any certainty whether it would work, or for how long. But Steve had looked so excited at the thought of bringing him back to New York, and, well...he’d never been able to say no to Steve ever since they were kids and he saw no reason to start now.

“So? What’d you think?” asked Steve. He looked both nervous and hopeful.

“It’s a nice place,” said Bucky slowly. Steve visibly perked up. “But,” added Bucky gently, “the rent’s a little steep, especially considering that I’m not getting a paycheck right now. Unless you’ll come and share the apartment with me?” He eyed Steve hopefully. It was probably too much to hope for, but...

“Actually, I got you a roommate, too!” said Steve brightly. “So you’ll only be paying half the rent. Well, I haven’t asked him yet, but I’m sure he’ll agree.” He beamed. “Both of my best friends, living in the same place! It’ll be so much easier to visit the two of you now.”

“Oh no,” said Bucky, backing away slowly. “No, no, _no_.”

 

***

 

Sam had always been a little bit of a neat freak. It had never been much of an issue before – he’d been lucky enough to have tidy college roommates, and when he’d been in the military, strict regs had meant that that hadn’t been an issue, either.

So now that he was sharing a tiny apartment with someone who seemed chronically unable to pick up after himself, items of clothing discarded on the bathroom floor and towels draped over the backs of chairs, it was driving him absolutely. Raving. Mad.

He’d taken to collecting all the towels that were being left all around the apartment (and really, how were there _so many_ towels? Did Barnes get a bulk discount for them?), bringing them into his room and, folding them neatly, stacking them in a corner of his room.

Eventually the pile of towels grew so large that he had to make some space in the corner of his closet to put half the pile in. Barnes never said a word to him about his missing towels, and somehow, _new ones still kept inexplicably appearing_. The towels in his closet were starting to outnumber the actual items of clothing he owned.

Steve came by to visit most weekends. Sam and Bucky would squabble over whose turn it was to hang out with Steve, then the winner would inevitably, sporting a triumphant air, drag Steve out for the day while the loser stayed at home and sulked. Steve had initially seemed rather distressed at his two best friends’ refusal to breathe the same air. He’d eventually moved on to disbelief, and now seemed to have progressed to resignation.

“Okay, let’s go,” Bucky said to Steve, emerging from his bedroom with his jacket. It was his turn with Steve today. Steve turned to glance pleadingly at Sam, who was lounging on the couch in front of the TV. “You sure you don’t want to join us?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Sam told him. “There’s a show I really want to watch.” He turned the TV on and picked a random channel.

Bucky leaned over Sam’s shoulder to peer at the TV. “I didn’t know you were a fan of _Sesame Street_ ,” he said in an interested manner.

“I watch it for the plot,” Sam told him with dignity.

Steve’s subsequent eyeroll was so vigorous it looked like it hurt. Sam thought that really was a little uncalled for. Bucky smirked, slung a possessive arm around Steve and coaxed him out the door.

After Bucky and Steve had left, Sam spent the afternoon making a little nest for Redwing out of the towels that wouldn’t fit into his closet. And not sulking at all, of course.

 

***

 

One night, Sam awoke to a line of light visible under the bottom of his closed bedroom door. He grumbled to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Barnes must’ve left the kitchen light on. Rolling tiredly out of bed, he opened his bedroom door and padded softly through the dark living room. The kitchen door was slightly ajar, light streaming out through the side.

He froze as he heard a clink of glass from inside the kitchen. Tiptoeing over to the door, he peeked carefully around it. With the kind of friends – and thus enemies – he had, one could never be too careful.

Bucky was sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, his head bent over a steaming mug cupped in both hands. His long hair obscured most of his expression, but his bowed head and slumped shoulders radiated weariness.

Clearing his throat, Sam pushed the kitchen door open. Bucky glanced up at him disinterestedly, then returned to staring into his mug. The cold, white kitchen lights reflected harshly off the angles of his face, throwing the dark circles under his eyes into stark relief against his pale skin.

Sam poured himself a cup of water and stuck a teabag in it, then pulled up another stool and joined Bucky at the kitchen table. They sat in silence for a while.

“I had a close friend when I was still serving in the Air Force,” Sam began. “His name was – ” he stopped and cleared his throat again, staring down into his cup of tea. Talking about Riley was still hard, even after all this time.

“His name was Riley,” he said. “He was my wingman. Got shot down by an RPG on a night mission. I was _right there_ , and I couldn’t do anything to save him. I still dream about it, sometimes.”

He looked up. Bucky was staring at him with an unreadable expression. “I’m sorry,” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah.” Sam shrugged and swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The haunted look in Bucky’s eyes felt painfully familiar. It was the same look he saw in the mirror some days, the days when he woke up thinking, _it should have been me that day, not Riley._ He looked away.

Bucky sighed, and looked down into his mug again. “I dream about them all the time,” he said, voice low. “The people I killed.”

Sam looked back at him. “I know you’ve probably been told this already,” he said slowly, “but that wasn’t your fault. And,” he added gently, “even if you don’t believe that yourself, you should trust Steve. He believes in you, and he’s a good man.”

“The best,” said Bucky fondly, and he wasn’t quite smiling, but the haunted look had faded a little, and he wasn’t staring morosely into his mug anymore.

“Well...except for the part where he forced us to live together,” Sam added dryly, and that got an honest-to-god _laugh_ out of Bucky.

“This makes me feel almost normal,” said Bucky, a wistful tone in his voice. “Like a regular guy, y’know? Having an apartment where I can leave my shit all over the place, and my two biggest worries are running out of clean underwear, and seeing how long I can keep drinking out of this chipped mug,” he gestured toward the mug in front of him, “before Steve forces me to junk it.”

Sam eyed the mug. It had a cute cartoon image of Steve’s shield on it, with the words “ _What Would Captain America Do?_ ” printed across it in bold letters. There was a small chip on the rim of the mug, just above where the handle was. Sam bit back a laugh.

“I wish,” Bucky continued, and his expression darkened again, “I didn’t have to constantly worry about the next time I’m going to _become a human robot and kill someone again_.”

“I thought,” Sam ventured cautiously, “the Wakandan scientists managed to wipe your programming.”

“Who knows,” Bucky said, morose again. “Only time will tell.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam assured him. “If any of the bad guys try to turn you into some kind of murder-bot again, I’ll kick your ass so hard you won’t be in any shape to kill anyone.”

Bucky eyed him suspiciously. “Didn’t you mean you’d fight the _bad guys_? Preferably _before_ they activate my programming?”

“Hell, no,” Sam said. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kick your ass ever since I met you. It’ll be a _pleasure._ ”

 

***

 

After that midnight conversation, Sam felt that he and Bucky seemed to have grown a tiny bit closer. He briefly experimented with addressing Bucky as “Bucky” instead of “Barnes”, and was pleasantly surprised when Bucky reciprocated by starting to address him by his first name, too.

They still squabbled over Steve’s attention like a couple of children, though. It was pretty obvious that Bucky was head-over-heels for Steve, and Sam had to admit that he wasn’t immune to Steve’s charms, either. Honestly, Sam thought gloomily, it seemed like _everyone_ who knew the man was at least a little bit in love with him.

It was Bucky’s turn to go out with Steve this evening. Which was, really, just as well, because Sam had been feeling a little under the weather the past few days – probably a cold, he thought. Taking a spare blanket out from the cupboard in the hall, he settled on the couch with a box of tissues and a book he’d bought a month ago and never got around to reading.

Bucky emerged from his room a few minutes later. His hair was tied back neatly, and he was dressed in a charcoal-gray suit over a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons open. Sam eyed him appreciatively as he bent over to put on his shoes, polished to a shine. When Bucky straightened back up, Sam guiltily snapped his eyes back to his book, because if Bucky caught him staring, oh, he’d _never_ hear the end of it.

“Going someplace fancy?” he asked.

“Steve wanted to go see an opera,” Bucky said.

“Oh? Which one?” said Sam, then sneezed into a tissue.

The doorbell rang, and Bucky went to answer it.

“The Marriage of Figaro,” he said over his shoulder as he opened the door and Steve stepped into the apartment, resplendent in a dark blue suit that brought out his eyes. Both Bucky and Sam gave him an appreciative once-over.

“Cool,” said Sam. “I like that one. Have fun.”

“Why don’t you come with us?” said Steve eagerly. “I can get another ticket.”

Sam looked over at Bucky, expecting him to object, but Bucky was just looking at him expectantly. “We’ll wait for you to get ready,” he said.

Sam scowled at Bucky questioningly. Bucky raised both eyebrows at him.

“Sam?” Steve was staring at him pleadingly. Sam opened his mouth to remind Steve not to do the puppy-eyes thing on him, but was abruptly overtaken by another huge sneeze.

Steve frowned worriedly at him. “Do you have a cold?”

Sam blew his nose into a tissue. “Looks like it,” he said, muffled. He waved at Steve and Bucky with his free hand. “Anyway, have fun. Don’t think I’ll be very good company today.”

After Steve and Bucky had left, Sam tried to continue reading his book, but his head was stuffy and aching and he fell asleep miserably on the couch hugging the box of tissues.

He sneezed himself awake in the early hours of the morning – a glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was 2 a.m. – to find a blanket tucked over him and a pillow under his head. Maybe Steve had come back with Bucky after their opera date and tucked him in, he thought fuzzily. Sitting up, the blanket still wrapped about his shoulders, he caught sight of a mug of water and a couple of aspirin on the table next to him.

It was Bucky’s favorite mug, the little Captain America shield clearly visible in the faint moonlight trickling in from the open window.

Huh.

 

***

 

Sam wasn’t even sure how the fight had started. He’d been sitting at the dining table cleaning Redwing, when Bucky had come in and made a comment about how big humanoid robots with elbow rockets were cooler than Redwing. (Bucky had really liked the _Pacific Rim_ movie. Go figure.)

“Apologize to Redwing,” he’d demanded.

Bucky had smirked at him. “ _Make me._ ”

Sam had had a split second to gloat over Bucky’s surprised expression as he threw himself bodily at Bucky, tackling him around his middle and slamming him to the floor. Right. So _that_ was how it’d started, then.

They rolled around kicking and punching each other, until Sam managed to pin Bucky, glaring down at him.

“Are you going to apologize now?” he demanded.

“ _No,_ ” Bucky said, lunging, and flipped them over so that now, he was pinning Sam. He smirked down at Sam, who scowled at him, shrugged off one of Bucky’s arms and used his free arm to grab a fistful of Bucky’s shirt and reel him in.

They stared at each other for a moment. Bucky opened his mouth. Growling, Sam yanked Bucky down the last few inches and mashed their mouths together.

Bucky’s eyes got very wide for a second before he got with the program and started kissing back in earnest. Sam groaned into Bucky’s mouth, tangling his hands in Bucky’s long hair, only breaking the kiss when Bucky started tugging insistently at his T-shirt. He lifted his arms to let Bucky tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside, then started working on the buttons on Bucky’s shirt.

“Still okay?” he said.

“ _Yes,_ ” Bucky said emphatically, and pulled him into another kiss.

 

***

 

Some time later, Sam blinked awake and sat up abruptly.

“Oh my god,” he said. He shoved Bucky off his stomach. “ _Oh my god._ ”

Bucky pushed himself up onto one elbow, brushed his hair out of his eyes and squinted irritably up at Sam. “You know, your post-coital manners _really_ need some work.”

“ _You_ ,” snarled Sam, glaring at Bucky. “I would kill you for cheating on my best friend, except _I’m the one you cheated on him with_!” He buried his head in his hands.

Bucky yanked on one of Sam’s arms until he uncovered one baleful eye. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You!” Sam pointed at him accusingly. “You bastard, _how dare you cheat on Steve_!”

Bucky stared at him blankly.

Sam stared back.

“You’re...not dating Steve?”

“No,” said Bucky. “Although God knows I’ve tried. He’s either not interested or as dense as a brick.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam sighed. “It beats me how a guy as smart as he is can be so utterly clueless about this _one specific thing_.”

“I thought _you_ were dating him,” said Bucky. “Right up to the point where you jumped on me and – ” he broke off, made a lewd gesture with his hand and smirked smugly at Sam.

Sam scowled at him. “I was trying to _fight_ you.”

There was a brief pause.

“So,” Bucky began a little stiffly, “you didn’t want to...” he gestured between the two of them.

“Oh,” said Sam. “Oh, no, no, I did.”

There was a brief silence.

“I still hate you,” said Bucky.

“Not as much as I hate you,” said Sam.

 

***

 

The next two weeks were a blur of tearing each other’s clothes off whenever possible and shoving each other up against various vertical or horizontal surfaces. They even stopped fighting over Steve and started hanging out with him together, which made Steve extremely suspicious for a time – at least until he walked into their apartment on a Saturday afternoon and found Bucky on his back on the couch with his knees over Sam’s shoulders.

Steve stopped in his tracks and gaped at them. They stopped and stared back at him, eyes wide.

A series of complicated expressions passed over Steve’s face: confusion, revelation, hurt.

“Ah – I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said hastily, and fled before either of them could stop him.

 

***

 

Steve somehow managed to spend the whole of the next week successfully avoiding both Sam and Bucky, and it was driving them both insane. They’d even stopped having sex because having sex made them feel guilty about making Steve sad.

Finally, in sheer desperation, they went to Natasha and begged her for help.

Natasha rolled her eyes at them. “Fine,” she sighed. “But you both owe me big time for this.”

“And,” she added, eyeing them both mistrustfully, “not to sound clichéd or anything, but if you hurt him, I will rip your balls off.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sam.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” said Bucky.

The next day, Steve knocked on the door of Natasha’s apartment.

“Hey, Nat,” he said cheerfully as the door opened. “Why did you ask me to come – ” he stopped talking abruptly. “You’re not Nat.”

“I see your keen powers of observation have not failed you in your dotage,” said Bucky, taking a firm hold of Steve’s right arm.

Sam materialized on Steve’s other side. “Pot, kettle. Better quit while you’re ahead, old man,” he advised Bucky, as he gripped Steve’s left arm firmly. Bucky scowled halfheartedly at him.

Together, they dragged an unwilling Steve into Natasha’s apartment, although Sam noted that Steve wasn’t resisting _too_ hard, or they probably wouldn’t have been able to get him into the apartment despite both of their best efforts.

Sam shut and locked the apartment door as Bucky lounged insouciantly against the dining table and regarded Steve thoughtfully.

“So,” Sam said to Steve conversationally, strolling over to him. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Steve, avoiding both their glares.

“You’re still a terrible liar,” Bucky informed him.

“I,” said Steve. “I just needed – some time, to. Er. Well.”

“Why are you upset?” Sam asked gently.

Steve bit his lip and shook his head, blue eyes downcast.

“You do know,” Bucky said, “how we both feel about you, right?”

“Of course I knew!” said Steve, looking frustrated. “The two of you aren’t exactly _subtle_ , you know.”

Bucky and Sam had the grace to look slightly abashed.

“I just didn’t want to have to choose between the two of you,” mumbled Steve, embarrassed. He ducked his head. “And now I guess I’ve lost both of you.”

The two men opposite him exchanged a speculative glance. “Huh,” said Sam.

“It’s a good thing you won’t have to choose, then,” said Bucky, as they both advanced on Steve.

“Wha – _aaa_!” yelped Steve as they both pounced on him and manhandled him into the nearest guest bedroom. Bucky kicked the door shut behind them. They walked Steve backward until his knees hit the bed, then Bucky pressed Steve back into the mattress, kissing him deeply, hands cupping Steve’s face. Steve moaned into Bucky’s mouth, one hand curled around Bucky’s wrist, the other hand gripping Sam’s arm as Sam worked on his belt.

The door slammed open. All three of them froze.

From the door, Natasha rolled her eyes, then heaved a deep, put-upon sigh. “I’m going over to Clint’s.” She shot the three men a steely glare. “I want my sheets laundered by the time I get back.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused meekly.

The door shut behind her. Sam and Bucky paused to admire their handiwork. Steve was flushed from head to toe, hair disheveled, belt undone, shirt hanging open. There was a very prominent bulge in his half-unzipped pants. They exchanged a grin.

“Now, where were we?” said Sam with a smile, as he and Bucky bent over Steve again.

 

End.

  


End file.
